


The Sixth Victim

by ASK321



Category: Miss Scarlet and the Duke (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Case of Henry Scarlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASK321/pseuds/ASK321
Summary: Following the discovery of her father's murderer, Eliza Scarlet is overwhelmed by five new cases - each victim narrating a story which is becoming all too familiar. Will Miss Scarlet let history repeat itself, or will she be able to stop the atrocities which intend to undermine an already unfair Victorian justice system?
Relationships: Eliza Scarlet/William 'The Duke' Wellington
Comments: 50
Kudos: 132





	1. Recital

**Author's Note:**

> These scenes have been playing in my mind for quite a while, and I have been very eager to write them down and share them with everyone. Also a huge shout out to the MSatD discord who have inspired me to write this fic! I hope you enjoy!!! :)

After their first dinner alone together, Eliza and William boarded the carriage and travelled back to Eliza’s house. As they were reaching Eliza’s house, William pondered over whether he should follow Eliza inside or go back to Scotland Yard where he knew many urgent cases were piling up on his desk. Would Eliza even invite him into her house in the first place? William doubted. As the carriage gradually drew to a halt outside the red door, he concluded the former was becoming more and more unlikely, until Eliza broke the undisturbed silence,

“Would you like to come inside?” a warm smile appeared on her face. Her cheeks reddening with embarrassment as time between her question and William’s reply grew.

“Yes,” William sighed in relief, “but only for a few minutes. I cannot stay long.”

Eliza’s smile expanded as a result of his response.

Welcomed at the door by Ivy, Eliza and William made their way into the drawing room where they collapsed on the settees, but not before they had made the fire, as the room was unusually cold for a summer’s evening. Alone together in the drawing room, the pair made small, amicable conversation, accompanied by the sound of a crackling fire. However, both seemed reluctant to delve into topics that lasted longer than a few sentences, fearing a potential argument or even worse, an unexpected confession of their feelings for one another.

“Right, it is time that I should go,” declared William as he slowly got up from the settee. Suddenly, the drawing room door opened widely. Eliza stood up, unintentionally close to William, ready to greet her unexpected visitor.

“Ah. Good evening Mr Parker! I was not expecting a visit from you this evening.”

“Good evening Miss Scarlet! Oh,” Mr Parker noticing William next to Eliza, “and Inspector Wellington too.” The two gentlemen bowed their heads in salutation.

“I was hoping now would be a convenient time to congratulate you, and Inspector Wellington,” using his right hand to gesture to the pair in the centre of the drawing room, “for your recent success regarding the forgery gang and your father’s murder.”

“Thank you Mr Parker, that’s very kind. Please send my gratitude to Fräulein Hildegard for aiding my discovery last night.”

Despite William’s need to go, he was nonetheless intrigued by Miss Scarlet’s request.

“What was Fräulein Hildegard’s involvement in the case?” William enquired, glancing at Eliza and Mr Parker in turn.

“Well,” paused Rupert, carefully selecting his next words, “Fräulein Hildegard was desperate to speak to Miss Scarlet yesterday evening. She stormed into this drawing room and demanded that Eliza ‘shall not take her fiancé!’”.

Inspector Wellington, perplexed by what Mr Parker had just narrated, furrowed his eyebrows. Mr Parker continued reciting last night’s events, with Miss Scarlet remarking occasionally where Mr Parker’s detail was insufficient.

“Fräulein Hildegard said that Miss Scarlet already has her policeman, and that she saw him creep up Miss Scarlet’s stairs.”

“To which I replied,” interjected Eliza, “You saw Detective Inspector Wellington creep up my stairs? To which she replied, ‘no not the _handsome_ one’”.

Lifting her head slightly, Eliza happened to catch William’s eyes which were already fixed on hers. A grin slowly appeared on William’s face as he imagined being Eliza’s ‘policeman’, which made her blush with embarrassment and subsequently break the eye contact. Mr Parker resumed,

“Miss Hildegard actually meant the other one, Detective Jenkins I think.”

Having concluded the recital, Mr Parker, wishing to disturb Miss Scarlet and Inspector Wellington no longer, said his goodbyes and left thereafter.

“So I am _your_ policeman?” asked William jokingly. “The dashingly handsome policeman!” he further commented, immediately improving his posture and elevating his head in a proud-like manner.

“Who else could it be?” Eliza chuckled. “PC Honeychurch!”

William, having suppressed his laughter, announced he could stay no longer. As William departed the drawing room, the couple broke eye contact for the last time. Eliza, confident that William had left for good, collapsed onto the settee exhausted.


	2. The First Victim

Eliza rose early the following morning still filled with the happy memories of last night and eager to begin a new day’s work. She soon departed, having said goodbye to Ivy, making the short walk from her home to the office, although the persistent drizzle made her journey much less pleasurable. As Eliza approached the office door, she observed a somber woman particularly close by. Wishing to remain inconspicuous, the woman used a parasol to conceal her face and was dressed in dark attire. Slowly lowering her parasol, she revealed herself to be a young woman—no more than thirty-five—however her ashen face and solemn countenance made her appear much older.

“Hello. Are you Miss Scarlet?” the woman whispered, cautiously edging closer towards Miss Scarlet.

“Yes I am.” replied Eliza, turning to face the woman as she gestured for her to enter the office, wishing to avoid what was becoming a rather heavy downpour.

“I am Mrs Taylor. My husband, who reads the morning edition of the London Post, left his newspaper at home before he travelled to work today. I read a few articles out of curiosity, one of which mentioned your involvement with Scotland Yard in discovering the largest ever forgery operation; the article also included details of your agency and its premises. At first I was, confessedly, astounded that a lady would involve herself in police matters, but then I came to the conclusion that a female detective could be _exactly_ the right person for dealing with my most _delicate_ case; since then I have been resolute in speaking with you.”

“Please, take a seat.” Eliza kindly proposed.

Having settled in the comfortable chair opposite Miss Scarlet, Mrs Taylor took a moment to assess the office and its furnishings in order to reassure herself of the reputability of the establishment; the well kept mahogany desk a model of efficiency, the fresh drapes reflecting Miss Scarlet’s tastefulness, and the picture of Eliza and her late father—the detective inspector—dismissed any doubts concerning Miss Scarlet’s credibility.

“I take great personal risk coming to see you Miss Scarlet. This matter, which I have not breathed a word to anyone, has plagued my mind for days. Do I have your confidentiality?”

“You have my word,” confirmed Eliza sincerely. “Now, what is this matter that has been troubling you so?”

“No longer than three weeks ago, I was taking a turn in my local park and I became acquainted to a man named John Francis.”

As Mrs Taylor began to speak, Eliza instantly reached for her notebook and a pen, keenly writing down any detail, both significant and insignificant, relating to the case.

“We were acquaintances, no more. But he fulfilled a role my husband has never been able to do: he _listened_ to me.”

Mrs Taylor, lingering on her words, paused for a few seconds as she reminisced about the many blissful hours which she spent in Mr Francis' company, where they would discuss topics as engaging as poetry, music and theatre, or matters as dull as the daily management of her household. Mrs Taylor then continued,

“I only saw him a couple of days, but he was the most agreeable man I had ever met…”

“Did your husband know about him?” Eliza interrupted briskly.

“No, never. It had only been three days before I invited Mr Francis round for tea, knowing my husband would be at work. However the man that came round for tea was not the same man I had met in the park. When he entered my drawing room his cold presence permeated the air, his manners had become more detached and aloof and he was not his usual amiable self. I should have known there was an ulterior motive behind his visit…”

Mrs Taylor lowered her head in shame and fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress, reluctant to describe the event which ensued. Taking in a deep breath, she stuttered,

“He went for me. He grabbed the collar on my dress, dragged me to the ground and pinned me with his knees. I almost escaped the ordeal by wriggling on my back to the door, but the door would not open before I was pulled back on to the settee. He reached for my skirt. I cried, I screamed for help, but help did not come. I tried to resist his advances but he overpowered me easily.”

Mrs Taylor sheepishly sunk deeper into the back of the chair.

“I can only imagine the pain you must have gone through.” Eliza commented sympathetically as she offered Mrs Taylor a handkerchief. “May I ask why you have not spoken to anyone, not even the police?”

“I would have to stand up in court and tell my story in such graphic detail which would be tantamount to reliving the horror over and over again,” sobbed Mrs Taylor, gently dabbing her eyes dry.

“Surely by telling the police, they could arrest and charge Mr Francis?” suggested Miss Scarlet.

“He blackmailed me into not telling a soul. I was forced to pay him one hundred pounds upfront otherwise he would tell my husband about our _relationship_. Even if I told the police and this matter ended up in court, any objection could ruin my opportunity to claim victimhood. If Mr Francis gave anyone reason to believe that I threw myself upon him, he would be acquitted as quickly as my reputation would be destroyed!”

Eliza, sickened by Mr Francis’ manipulation, grew more and more determined to help Mrs Taylor in anyway that she could.

“I see. So how can I help?”

“I will not be able to buy Mr Francis’ silence forever. It is only a matter of time before my husband starts to ask questions of my large expenditures. I need you to find Mr Francis and gather any possible evidence of his blackmail which may incriminate him, so that my case will have the biggest chance of standing up in court.”

“Do you have Mr Francis’ address?” asked Eliza.

“I have not,” sighed Mrs Taylor, “nor do I have a clue of his whereabouts since he has not returned to the park since our encounter a couple of weeks ago. I hardly knew the man. How foolish it was of me to let a stranger into my house!”

“How about a description of Mr Francis?” Eliza posed, in an attempt to move the conversation forward, seeing how visibly upset her client was becoming.

“Yes, yes. I can give you that, albeit vaguely. He is tall, rather sturdy, and has the most remarkable blue eyes. I could not see much of his hair, for most of it was hidden under is hat, but I believe it to be a rich chestnut colour. As for his appearance, he looks like any other middle-class gentleman.”

“Identifying Mr Francis could take weeks, months, even years, I fear. He could be any man in London!” exclaimed Miss Scarlet, frustrated that her client was unable to provide any peculiar, or for that matter useful, detail of Mr Francis.

“I know it is not much to go on. That is why I will pay you five pounds if you successfully find evidence of Mr Francis’ blackmail and two pounds if you are unsuccessful—for your troubles and confidentiality.”

Eliza, astonished by the fee Mrs Taylor was offering to pay her, accepted it appreciatively; but not wanting to get her hopes up, she reminded herself of the extremely slim probability of finding Mr Francis. Mrs Taylor then thanked Miss Scarlet for taking up her case and left in a much more cheerful state than which she entered the office.

Twirling a pen in her left hand, Eliza stared at her notebook, internally drawing up a plan of action whilst trying to decipher the illegible scribbles she had written. Maybe she could enlist Moses’ help in finding John Francis? Perhaps she could ask William for access to police files which may have information pertaining to Mr Francis? No. She could not. William would ask too many questions, even if it was because he cared a lot—maybe too much—about her safety, about _her_. She gave Mrs Taylor her word—no one must know.

As Miss Scarlet was considering her next steps forward, three faint knocks sounded. Looking up to identify what was making the noise, Eliza could see the blurred outline of a woman behind the translucent glass door.

“Come in.” Eliza called, believing the woman to be Mrs Taylor returning for a belonging she may have left in the office, or maybe to tell her something she had forgotten to mention during their meeting.

Much to Miss Scarlet’s surprise, it was another woman.


	3. Secrets, Sacrifices and Similarities

The door hastily opened, this time revealing a woman whose breathlessness indicated that she had walked a great distance to see Miss Scarlet. The rushed manner in which the woman entered the office immediately gave Eliza the impression that she wished to discuss a matter that was both pressing and urgent indeed. Despite the initial flustered greeting from Miss Clarke, Eliza thought she was as well-spoken as one could be when articulating horrific events such as the ordeal she went through:

“Mr Harris and I became acquainted a couple of weeks ago in the park. He offered me his umbrella as it began to rain because I had foolishly left mine at home. A few days later he called upon me for tea. I agree, it was rather improper of me inviting him into my drawing room, but it would have felt awkward turning away the man who I owed much gratitude to at my doorstep. Since it was a Tuesday—my maid’s day off—and I was the only person in the house, no one could object to Mr Harris’ request to see me. I quickly came to regret my decision when Mr Harris forced himself upon me seconds later. The incident continues to haunt every thought I have, like a nightmare I can never wake up from. Could I have fought back harder? Could I have screamed louder? At the time he appeared inexorable, but maybe it would have stopped him from doing those wicked things to me! In addition to the suffering I’ve already endured, he has blackmailed me out of one hundred pounds in return for his silence, otherwise he would tell not only my fiancé, but my father too about our little get-together! I cannot not risk anyone knowing, for I am to receive a substantial endowment when I marry and it could jeopardise everything! That is why I have come to you.”

“Would you like me to find evidence of Mr Harris’ assault, sufficient to present a convincing case to the court?” proposed Miss Scarlet, stretching her aching left hand which had seized up while documenting the client’s incident.

“What proof do I have? It’s his word against mine. I fear even _medical_ evidence would not be enough to sentence Mr Harris. Besides, I do not want to go through that intrusive, degrading and traumatic procedure.”

Eliza could empathise completely with this, having narrowly missed being subject to inspection herself; in fact, the very thought of it sent shivers down her spine.

“No. I only wish to retrieve the one hundreds pounds I gave to him, so my father does not become suspicious of my spending,” requested Miss Clarke assuredly, “therefore I can avoid any involvement with the judicial system and any stain on my reputation.”

Miss Clarke’s readiness to let Mr Harris evade punishment vexed Miss Scarlet somewhat; but not wanting to be disrespectful to her client, she gently put forward her opinion:

“Would you not like justice to be served? How can you live peacefully knowing that your attacker is walking freely?”

“Life is full of sacrifices. I have chosen to sacrifice my justice in order to save my engagement and consequently my future. I hope you can understand. Good day, Miss Scarlet.”

Miss Clarke departed the office, having agreed a most generous fee for Miss Scarlet’s services, leaving Eliza alone to contemplate Miss Clarke’s stoic response. The words consumed Eliza for many minutes as she thought of her father sacrificing his own professional fulfilment to look after, and spend time with, his daughter—bringing Eliza to the verge of tears—before the memories of her father sweetly faded as her attention turned towards the two cases sitting unsolved on her desk.

Over the next twenty-four hours, the two cases sitting unsolved on Miss Scarlet’s desk became five. Aided by advertisements of Miss Scarlet’s agency in various newspapers, another three women sought Miss Scarlet’s help, having been assaulted and blackmailed by three different men in the past couple of weeks. Mrs Andrews arrived first to report that she had been molested by a man called Mr Wilson last Monday, having made his acquaintance in the park a few days before. Then there was Mrs Sutton, like Mrs Andrews she also had been violated by a man called Mr Allen last Thursday; by lunchtime Miss Turner had also visited Miss Scarlet’s office, begging Miss Scarlet to find the man who had attacked her as recently as last Saturday!

It was almost uncanny, the similarity of their stories, as if they had been narrated from the same book. All five women had something to lose, whether it was their inheritance, their marriage or their reputation. Mrs Sutton even feared her husband would take the children away from her for displaying loose morals! All five woman had been blackmailed out of one hundred pounds and also into not reporting their attacker to the police, otherwise he would make comments of her respectability; about how she not only provided inadequate resistance from his sexual advances, but actually encouraged them! These damaging remarks would naturally create a mistrust of the woman’s character—enough to convince any jury that the accused was not guilty. All five women, apart from Mrs Taylor, reported no other beings in the house at the time of the assault. No one could hear their cries for help.

Investigating these similarities occupied Eliza for many hours. Her desk, once a model of efficiency, was now in disarray, with case files scattered end-to-end as she attempted to make connections between the five cases. It was only the interruption from a familiar face that could distract Eliza from her all-consuming work.

“William! What are you doing here?” exclaimed Eliza, surprised by the unexpected—but not unwelcome—visitor.

William was not paying any attention to what Eliza was saying; his attention was immediately drawn to the clutter on Eliza’s desk.

“I can confirm you are your father’s daughter. Your desk is a mess! Have you lost something?” remarked William, teasingly.

“No,” Eliza calmly replied, “this mess is in fact the result of _five_ cases which I have received over the past two days.”

William curiously edged closer towards the desk, in an attempt to determine whether Eliza was being truthful about having five cases—quite a reasonable thing to do since he had fallen victim to Eliza’s chicanery multiple times in the past few months alone. Eliza, realising what William was doing, hastily got up from her chair, ran to the front of her desk, and attempted to shield the case files with her body, rendering herself in an extremely awkward limbo position. Eliza’s arms were spread as far across the desk as she could extend them, but this was all in vain, for she could feel her arms about to give way and consequently she would fall flat on the desk. William, slightly amused, advanced evermore closer to Eliza. Carefully slipping his hands on her back, he pulled her back up to a position even more awkward than limbo—one could argue. Chest to chest, Eliza could feel William’s heart beating, his slow, controlled breathing, and his arms still tightly wrapped around her waist; he gazed longingly into her eyes, which Miss Scarlet could only interpret as William’s way of seducing her into revealing what she was up to—Eliza was very aware of William’s reputation with _other_ women, after all.

“It’s confidential,” remarked Eliza, as she tried recompose herself.

“You cannot even tell a detective inspector of Scotland Yard?” William questioned in disbelief.

“I have given them my word. I cannot disclose any information at the present; besides, there have been many occasions where you have kept secret the nature of a case. You have your secrets, William, and I have mine. Let’s save them for another time. Now, what have you come to see me about?”

“The new superintendent has ordered me to follow a criminal gang to Manchester; before I left I wanted to ask if you needed help with some of your cases, but it’s clear you don’t want my help.”

“How long will you be gone for?” enquired Eliza, wishing to change the topic.

“A few days I hope, two weeks at the most. The superintendent has promised to give me a promotion if the manhunt is successful, but I’ve been given promises like this before only to be made a fool of when they never came to fruition.”

“I cannot imagine that you’ve ever been made a fool of. No one could ever make a fool out of you, William.”

“You could make a fool out of me any day, Eliza,” smirked William.

Eliza, unable to respond this, was left speechless. She wondered why William always put her in these predicaments, and derived much pleasure from doing so too.

“Well I’ll be off,” sighed William, finally breaking the unbearable silence between them, “don’t want to give these criminals too much of a head start. Goodbye, Eliza.”

“Goodbye, William,” spoke Eliza softly, as the door closed, hoping that she would not come to regret her decision to conceal the true nature of her cases from the man she trusted the most.


	4. Florrie

There was no doubting Miss Scarlet’s skilfulness and perceptivity, after all, her late father had dedicated a great deal of time to his daughter’s detective education. However, as the cases were presenting themselves, Miss Scarlet realised there were some matters her father had not wished to include in his curriculum: matters of deception and manipulation. Eliza believed her lack of knowledge pertaining to the psychology of these five men were hindering her investigations to the extent that she was beginning to doubt her own ability. No real progress had been made since the day she rejected William’s offer of help—about a week ago. Eliza was beginning to conclude that these were lost cases, that she could do nothing to help these women.

The following morning, Miss Scarlet, overcome with embarrassment, approached the house of Mrs Taylor resolved to tell the truth about the lack of progress she had made over the course of the past week. Eliza could not help but feel ashamed of herself as she climbed the steps of the client’s front entrance; people were finally taking a keen interest in her detective agency—especially this one woman who took a _particular_ interest in Eliza’s business, having had a very lengthy conversation about it with Ivy in the butcher’s the other day. To have failed so early on would be to disappoint many people as well as confirm many other’s suspicions regarding her capabilities as a female detective.

Having knocked on the door, Miss Scarlet was welcomed into the house by Mrs Taylor’s housekeeper, whose agitated appearance was most likely the result of the surprise visitor. Nevertheless, the lady showed Miss Scarlet to the drawing room where Mrs Taylor was sipping a cup of tea rather anxiously. In desperate need of good news, Mrs Taylor breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Miss Scarlet.

“Please take a seat, Miss Scarlet. I do hope you’re well. How has your investigation fared?” asked Mrs Taylor, eagerly awaiting Miss Scarlet’s response.

“Mrs Taylor, I am afraid to say that the investigation…”

Eliza would have reluctantly continued that sentence had it not been for the persistently loud sound of a creaking floorboard upstairs distracting her momentarily; eventually, Miss Scarlet tried to resume the conservation only to have lost her train of thought almost completely. Fortunately, Miss Scarlet’s delivery of bad news was suspended by Mrs Taylor’s interruption…

“Please do forgive me for the noises coming from upstairs. That will be my housekeeper Florrie, she will be leaving soon for it is her and the maid’s day off; then we will be able to have our talk in peace and quiet.”

“Do Florrie and your maid take Wednesday off each week?” Miss Scarlet wondered.

“Yes. The maid certainly does, but occasionally Florrie will continue working on her days off if she believes there to be something important that needs addressing. She’s very diligent in the performance of her duties, I do not know how my family would survive without her.”

“Do you recall Florrie taking the Wednesday off on the day of the assault, exactly four weeks ago?” questioned Miss Scarlet, suddenly remembering it was also the maid’s day off on the days of the other four attacks.

“No, I do not recall. But I believe she was not present in the house at the time of the assault, otherwise she would have heard my screams and rescued me,” replied Mrs Taylor, fidgeting with the sleeves of her dress as the memory haunted her mind once more.

Once the haunting had stopped and Mrs Taylor felt at ease again, she kindly offered Miss Scarlet a cup of tea, to which the visitor accepted gratefully. Having poured the tea, Mrs Taylor then handed over the cup and saucer to Miss Scarlet, making a significant effort not to spill the tea on the floor, for her hands were shaking quite visibly. Seconds later, the door to the drawing room opened, revealing Florrie on the other side. The housekeeper stepped assuredly into the drawing room to declare…

“I have finished my outstanding tasks for today Ma’am, and so I will now take the rest of today off to visit my dear nephew. Unless you require me for anything else?”

“No, that will be all,” thanked Mrs Taylor.

Florrie bowed slightly. As she lifted her head once more she briefly caught sight of Miss Scarlet who had been observing her the whole time. The housekeeper flashed white with horror; unable to speak, she left immediately, closing the door rather abruptly. Miss Scarlet thought this was very odd, for there was no reason that Florrie should be so unsettled by her presence; Eliza had only spoken to Florrie a little upon her arrival—nothing more than a few words.

“Before I leave, may I use your toilet?” enquired Miss Scarlet, having finished her cup of tea.

“Of course. It is upstairs—if you walk down the corridor, past the maid’s and then Florrie’s room, it will be on your left,” instructed Mrs Taylor.

Having climbed the stairs and proceeded down the corridor, Miss Scarlet reached the door to the bathroom. She did not enter though, for she did not wish to the use the toilet. Eliza simply needed an opportunity to explore upstairs, to find evidence that definitively proved Florrie's absence from the house during the assault.

Miss Scarlet carefully entered Florrie’s room, listening out for footsteps just in case Mrs Taylor wasby chance coming upstairs. The room was rather dull and uninteresting, comprising only simple furnishings—a bed, a chair and a desk. Upon further inspection, Eliza discovered a small drawer hidden beneath the desk. The drawer was locked, much to Miss Scarlet’s inconvenience, but thanks to her pick, tension wrench, and deftness, it remained locked only for a few seconds longer.

The contents of the drawer left Miss Scarlet feeling very underwhelmed—a set of house keys and a scrap piece of paper. Examining the piece of paper, it contained a two-columned list…

_Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday,_ the left column read.

_Greengrocer, Baker, Florist, Butcher, Tailor,_ read the right.

Desiring to make sense of the list, Miss Scarlet placed it in her bag in order to inspect it more closely at a later time. As for the house keys, Miss Scarlet thought they were not of significance and so decided against taking them back to her office as well—besides, one scrap piece of paper going missing would look less suspicious than a set of house keys.

Having put everything back to normal in Florrie’s room, Miss Scarlet quickly headed downstairs in order to say goodbye to Mrs Taylor. Departing the house in a more enthusiastic manner than which she arrived, this new piece of evidence had given much-needed impetus to her investigation.


	5. Vinnie

As Miss Scarlet took the shortcut through the park to her office, she pondered why Florrie had taken such care to conceal an ordinary list. Eliza also conjectured the meaning of the list; perhaps it was to remind Florrie which days she must go to each aforementioned shop.

The very fine weather of the late morning was sufficient encouragement for Miss Scarlet to pause her journey to the office, as she took in the serene views from across the lake, and breathed in the fresh summer air, which contrasted greatly to the polluted streets of London that she was accustomed to. Miss Scarlet had enjoyed the tranquility for a mere ten seconds before she was disturbed by an energetic Jack Russell bounding towards her, followed hastily by its gentleman owner, looking very out of breath.

“I cannot apologise enough for disturbing you Miss,” spoke the exhausted gentleman, hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “She’s a puppy, you see. I rescued her only yesterday, and I haven’t quite managed to establish who’s the master yet.”

“Yes, I can see,” commented Miss Scarlet, “One may question whether you’re walking the dog, or if the dog is walking you! Mr—”

“Albans, George Albans.”

“Eliza Scarlet. Well Mr Albans, I think it must be the latter,” chuckled Eliza, crouching down to stroke the puppy who was very excitably jumping on her felt blue dress, leaving some small muddy paw prints behind.

“It's very nice to make your acquaintance,” said Mr Albans, albeit in a stuttering manner as he now found himself completely overawed by Miss Scarlet’s indisputable beauty.

“And I yours,” replied Miss Scarlet, very charmed by his friendly demeanour. “I’m afraid I must leave you now Mr Albans as I have somewhere to be.”

“May I escort you to where you are going?” asked Mr Albans, eagerly offering his right arm.

Miss Scarlet, giving no response, took Mr Albans’ arm with little hesitation. Arm in arm, they began to walk through the park to her office, stopping only occasionally when they caught the puppy wondering off.

“Does she have a name?” enquired Miss Scarlet.

“Not yet. But since she’s taken an exceptionally strong liking to you, Miss Scarlet, will you do me the honour of naming her?”

“My mother was extremely fond of dogs; when I was a little girl she was particularly fond of our family dog Skip—like your puppy she was also a Jack Russell—so I shall name her Vinnie, in honour of my mother Lavinia.”

“What a beautiful name,” said Mr Albans with a smile. “Pray tell me where is our destination? I fear we are wondering aimlessly.”

“Fear not, Mr Albans. We are heading to my office—there is a shortcut through the park. Look! We have reached the park gates—our journey will not take long now.”

“Your office?” said Mr Albans confounded.

“My office,” reaffirmed Miss Scarlet, grinning with amusement at his perplexity, “I am a private detective.”

“A private detective?” repeated Mr Albans incredulously, “What sort of investigations do you undertake? Anything I may have heard of in the papers?”

“As a matter of fact, yes—a couple of times,” said Miss Scarlet, proudly. “Most recently I was involved in the discovery of a forgery gang, and also in the foiling of a bomb plot a few a weeks ago.”

“Is this bomb plot you speak about the Margaret Davidson-Merritt case?” enquired Mr Albans, a look of astonishment crossing his face, “I don’t recall seeing your name in any of the articles.”

“Unfortunately my involvement was not mentioned,” sighed Miss Scarlet, “but please do not feel obligated to ask about my involvement for the sake of politeness Mr Albans; we have arrived at my office now and so you’re free to leave me.”

“It would be no trouble at all, Miss Scarlet. In fact, I was rather excited to hear your side of the story—I shall not leave until you tell me _exactly_ what was not reported in the papers!” insisted Mr Albans in a most charismatic manner.

“Very well,” said Miss Scarlet, charmed by Mr Albans’ enthusiasm, “I was asked by Scotland Yardto infiltrate a Women’s Suffrage Society meeting and report back to them on any suspicious activity…”

As Miss Scarlet was narrating the undercover adventures of _Mrs Alice Morgan_ to her audience of one, she could see a dark figure slowly approaching the office door in her peripheral vision, having stepped out of a carriage on the other side of the street.

“My investigation was almost ruined by a constable who recognised me… there was a slight altercation outside between the constable and I—”

“Slight altercation?” interposed Mr Albans, hoping that Miss Scarlet would elaborate on this remark.

“The constable said some very _unsavoury_ language about me… so I slapped him,” said Miss Scarlet, her cheeks colouring red with embarrassment.

“What unsavoury language did the constable say?” interjected a familiar voice.

“William! You’re back!” cried Eliza, realising soon afterwards that she may have appeared a little too excited at William’s return. Regaining composure, she introduced the two men: “William, this is Mr George Albans; Mr Albans, this is my… _close_ _friend_ Detective Inspector Wellington of Scotland Yard.”

“About that, Eliza…” murmured William to Miss Scarlet.

“Where was I?” interrupted Eliza, “Oh yes, the rude constable—I think it’s best if you do not know what the constable said to me Inspector Wellington, I fear it would anger you tremendously. After all, when I first tried to inform you of your constable’s vile conduct, you did not care to listen to me!”

“I did not want to listen to you at the time because you had just assaulted a police officer!” said William raising his voice, vexed by Miss Scarlet's accusation.

Mr Albans, sensing the growing hostility, politely excused himself—and Vinnie—from the pair and went on with his day. Eliza and William then entered her office so that they could continue their discussion without the whole street listening in.

“It is not only that I fear your bad temper William, I also fear PC Honeychurch’s safety. If I was able to give him a black eye, imagine what you would be able to do to him!” remarked Eliza.

“Surely, he didn’t say anything that offensive,” dismissed William.

“He called me one of your tarts, and intimated that I had touched a great number of police officers in my time.”

_Oh_. William had not known about this. But he did know that PC Honeychurch was going to be severely reprimanded later tonight back at the Yard.

“Is there anything else I should be made aware of?” asked William, exhaling heavily in frustration.

Yes, there were many things Eliza _ought_ to tell William. Little did William know, he was speaking to a thief, an attempted arsonist, and a person who enjoys getting into scrappy fights with one-eyed prostitutes every now and then; but Eliza, not wishing to spend any more time in William’s cells than she had already spent—even though his cells were slowly becoming a second home to her—shrugged and remained silent.

“Good. Now that’s resolved, I have some news for you. Following the successful manhunt, the Superintendent has promoted me to Chief Inspector.”

“This is excellent news William!” exclaimed Eliza, a broad and sincere smile appearing on her face.

And excellent news for Eliza too. Imagine the places she would be able to get into—or the trouble she would get out off—using William’s patronage.

“ _Chief_ Inspector Wellington,” the words dancing on her tongue, “it has a nice ring to it. I always thought Detective Inspector Wellington was quite the mouthful,” joked Eliza. “It’s the least you deserve William; I know how difficult work has been these past few months, and I have definitely not made things easier…”

Pausing, Eliza reached for William’s hands as she gazed thoughtfully into his eyes.

“Father would have been so proud.”

“Only Henry?” said William, tilting his head archly.

“Is this your way of inviting me to profess how proud I am of you?” asked Miss Scarlet, rather taken aback by William’s response to her heartfelt speech. “Admitting something is much harder than keeping it to one’s self; but yes, I am proud of you.”

Whether it was the sincerity of her words, or the fact that she was blushing to a great extent, William had never found Eliza so endearing than at this moment.

“I am also sorry that I have no present to give to you, unlike the time Father gave you a watch when you were made Detective Inspector,” said Eliza.

“Well you can make up for it with an acceptance to dinner this Friday,” replied William.

“I would be delighted William, but is there no reservation available for tomorrow?” enquired Miss Scarlet, having realised that she had promised to visit Miss Clarke and Mrs Andrews on Friday.

“Friday was better in terms of forward planning… I have some important meetings with the Superintendent tomorrow, and I thought if we happened to fall into an argument before our reservation, there would be sufficient time for a reconciliation,” explained William.

“I will not see you again until our reservation so there is _no_ possibility of us getting into an argument before that,” commented Eliza, not convinced by William’s explanation— _he’s probably going out drinking with his men tomorrow night,_ she thought.

“With you there’s always a way,” replied William, once again catching Eliza off guard. 

William departed Eliza’s office very pleased with himself; not only did he manage to get Eliza to say how proud she was of him, he also managed to secure Eliza’s acceptance to dinner with almost no protestation! Eliza, on the other hand, was left rather baffled by William’s behaviour, but nonetheless flattered that he wanted to spend even _more_ time with her than he was forced to when their spheres of work overlapped. However, Eliza could not get too carried away with the idea of going to dinner with a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, for the piece of paper laying idle in her bag reminded her that there was much work to do.


End file.
